


Recognition

by Crollalanza



Series: Iwaoi - Philos Series [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: M/M, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-11
Updated: 2015-02-11
Packaged: 2018-03-11 19:51:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3332444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crollalanza/pseuds/Crollalanza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an injury in a practise match, Iwaizumi lies in a hospital bed while Oikawa watches on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recognition

**Author's Note:**

> This is a short follow-up to Philos, a prequel to both Cleaved and Perfect Day. Not entirely necessary to read the others, but you might just enjoy them. 
> 
> This story was inspired by a prompt from emery-dragongfly on tumblr. The prompt was 'The Song of Achilles' which is one of my favourite ever books.

_‘I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.’_

_~The Song of Achilles_

The room was dark, but the light from the corridor was enough for Tooru, even if he was huddled down in the chair, hiding from those who’d send him away.

Iwaizumi was asleep. The pain medication and sedatives dripped into his arm, soothing him to a state of unconscious. And in sleep he looked peaceful, his face in repose, relaxed and almost happy in a way Tooru rarely saw when he was conscious.

Of course that would change when he woke, which was why Tooru had decided to stay. It wouldn’t be right, he’d decided, for Iwaizumi to wake alone, for the first person he’d see to be a nurse or doctor. Even if he scowled out at Tooru as soon as he saw him, it was better than waking up with a stranger by his side.

At least, that was Tooru’s opinion. He wouldn’t want to wake alone.

His breathing was easier, no longer the ragged breaths wrenched from his lungs as he fought not to scream, but soft and even. A sound Tooru had heard so many times throughout their childhood, but had only recently paid attention to.  When Iwaizumi slept like this in his bed, by his side, Tooru would watch him, and wonder ( _and wonder, and wonder ..._ ) how it was possible for someone with so much passion - so much rage- to be able to sleep at all.

And he’d think about running his hand through Iwaizumi’s hair, splaying his fingers at the vee of his throat, and mazing a path downwards. But when Iwaizumi slept like this, Tooru never wanted to wake him. At home, he’d stare instead, his eyes boring into his friend, and his lips would part as he’d pout the name ‘Hajime’ into the silent air between them. He’d inhale the scent and sweat, breathe in the feral, sexual musk of his skin.  Or he’d wait for a movement, some sign that Iwaizumi was aware he was not alone, and then lean across to whisper ‘Iwa-chan’, while nipping at his ear.

(Was friend the right word now? Had friend _ever_ been the right word?  Kith not kin. Not bound by a thick blood tie, but water frozen to ice, cleaving each fast to the other.)

Sometimes Tooru was scared the thaw of spring would release them.

 

Iwaizumi’s hair was spiky, especially at the back. Pressed into the hospital pillows, unwashed after the match, it was messier and spikier than ever. When they were kids, Tooru had teased him about his hair, calling him a hedgehog because it would never lie flat, nor fall into waves. He’d mocked him mercilessly just to see the reaction. The scowl, shouts and kick on the shins had been worth it, but Iwaizumi appearing the next morning with his hair hacked off had not. It had taken two months for it to grow back, so Tooru had never used that particular insult again, although he’d found plenty of others, as he always did.

 _When we were kids_. He laughed a little, the sound catching at his lips, before he could break the silence in the room. _We’re still kids, Iwa-chan, aren’t we?_ Tooru hoped.

Because that way, neither had to assume responsibility and break the chains.

He stared again, tilting his head to one side as he took in the nearly-man, lying so still between crisp, unruffled sheets.

 _I like your hair,_ he mused, consequential to nothing, recalling its coarseness rubbing on his stomach, scratching at his thighs.

_Perhaps I should tell you that._

_And I like your throat, the way it constricts when I make you gasp. The way you try so desperately not to call my name, to admit that I can make you feel in any way pleasurable. How you don’t_ always _feel anger when I’m close by.  I love your denial, Hajime, as much as I love your capitulation._

_I love-_

 

“Oikawa?”

He jolted upright. “Iwa-chan, you’re awake!”

“You don’t say,” he muttered blearily. “What are you doing here?”

“Your parents had to leave –”

“Yeah, I remember that. Mum can’t stay over ‘cause Dad’s got a late shift. But why are _you_ still here?”

“I got comfortable,” he lied, because the hospital chair was awkward for someone with his long limbs. “And the coffee is surprisingly good.”

“Liar,” Iwaizumi rasped. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”

He shrugged, but the weight on his shoulders didn’t shift. “I don’t mind.”

“I’m only going to sleep,” Iwaizumi said and yawned. “And the nurse’ll check up on me at some stage. You’ll have to flutter those pretty eyelashes of yours or she’ll call security.”

“I’ll tell them I’m your brother, or something.”

“Yeah, right, they’ll go for that because we’re _so_ alike.”

“My sister doesn’t look anything like me,” Tooru said. “So it could be true.”

Iwaizumi grimaced. “Yeah, you’re a one-off,” he muttered. “You could pick my brothers out in a line-up, though. We’re common enough.”

“Don’t believe that for a moment,” Tooru murmured. He turned his soft smile to one of mockery. “Your scowl is unique, Iwa-chan.”

“You see it often enough,” he retorted. But he wasn’t scowling when he said it. The clock ticked, Iwaizumi’s breathing evened out again as if he were sleeping, but his eyes didn’t close. Instead, he stared at the door, avoiding Tooru’s gaze. “The nurse will be here soon.”

“Are my eyelashes pretty?”Tooru asked. He didn’t really want an answer, but this way of speaking, this constant asking of provocative questions, was their thing. Or rather it was Tooru’s, for Iwaizumi never asked anything unless it was about volleyball or ...

(Are you okay? Was that good? Did I hurt you? Do you like it when I...?)

“Stop fishing. She won’t believe someone as pretty as you and someone as plain as me are related, Oikawa, so you should go.”

“Cousin, then,” Tooru amended.  He fixed Iwaizumi with a stare, and very slowly parted his mouth, licking along his upper lip. “’Kissing Cousins’, Iwa-chan.”

And even in the half-light he knew Iwaizumi was blushing.

**Author's Note:**

> Since Philos, I've always thought of Oikawa and Iwaizumi and Achilles and Patroclus - although after all these centuries, the roles are a little muddled. I tried to capture a little of the style of the book, which is why this is more of a reflective piece. I hope you enjoyed.


End file.
